


With This Ring

by thundersquall



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (in)correct use of cup rings, Anal Fingering, Exhibitionism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4945423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersquall/pseuds/thundersquall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonny settles his hands on Patrick's hips to turn him around, and is jolted anew by the sight of his own Cup ring on Patrick's smooth, pale skin, the TOEWS on it and the 19 beneath that standing out starkly against the orangey light spilling in from outside the windows. He presses a little harder into Patrick's hips, just enough to see his ring make a soft indentation in the skin, and is struck with the sudden image of his name imprinted on Patrick.</p><p>Or: Jonny gets his Cup ring and makes good use of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With This Ring

**Author's Note:**

> it takes a village even for a simple pwp. thanks to [coffeekristin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeKristin/pseuds/CoffeeKristin), K, Z and P who encouraged me and gave me a ton of fantastic suggestions. also special thanks to [altri_uccelli](http://archiveofourown.org/users/altri_uccelli/pseuds/altri_uccelli) who came up with the awesome title, from the traditional line during the exchanging of wedding rings: "with this ring i thee wed".
> 
> the 2015 stanley cup ring looks like [this](http://l1.yimg.com/bt/api/res/1.2/H3Z9bjxAHwIPeyNmNb8q8Q--/YXBwaWQ9eW5ld3NfbGVnbztxPTg1/http://l.yimg.com/os/publish-images/sports/2015-10-05/4480a960-6b70-11e5-9b0b-0325f3ac9205_Screen-Shot-2015-10-05-at-10-45-05-AM.png) and the name and number of the player is on the [side](http://assets1.sportsnet.ca/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/CQhFcjXU8AAPIow.jpg).

The moment they're through the door, Jonny kicks it shut with the heel of his foot and pushes Patrick against it, grabbing the lapels of Patrick's jacket and yanking him up so he can kiss him. Patrick goes easily, laughing, lifting himself on his tiptoes and fitting their mouths together, curling a hand around the back of Jonny's neck.

Jonny can feel Patrick's thumb stroking gently just beneath the smooth shaven line of his hair and the weight of Patrick's Cup ring against his skin, gentle and steadying despite the hot, urgent press of their mouths. It makes the crawling, prickling sensation of the itch that had been ratcheting up and down his spine since dinner settle somewhat, the feeling that his skin was stretched too tight over the _too much_ of his insides ease off, so that he's only aware of Patrick pressed tight against him, leaning his full weight on Jonny and off his toes, like he trusts Jonny completely to hold him and not let him fall.

Jonny bites a little at the soft lushness of Patrick's lower lip and Patrick gasps into his mouth, digs his fingers harder into Jonny's nape, and Jonny can feel the pressure of the thick band of metal on Patrick's hand. That's what does it: he tears himself away from Patrick's mouth, looks down at him. Patrick's mouth is reddened from just these few minutes of kissing and his chest is heaving against Jonny's; Jonny pushes gently at him, enough for Patrick to rock back on his feet, flat on the floor again, hands sliding down until his palms are pressed on Jonny's chest.

"What?" Patrick asks breathlessly.

Jonny swallows, watches as Patrick's eyes drop to the bob of his Adam's apple. He knows the _what_ – what he wants, but he doesn't know _how_ to ask for it – until Patrick lifts a hand to stroke along Jonny's cheek, and the band of his Cup ring catches on the side of Jonny's lips. Jonny turns his head to kiss it, watches as Patrick's eyes got hot and dark.

"Whatever you want, Jonny," Patrick says – and yeah, Patrick's always given Jonny anything he wants, whatever hysterical request he wants to pull out of his ass. He might bitch at Jonny, might push back a little, but he's never _not_ given something to him, not something he really wanted.

And Jonny really, really wants this, so he says, "Take off your clothes. Stand by the window."

The windows in the living area of Patrick's Trump Tower apartment are large and many: floor-to-ceiling glass panels that wrap around an entire two walls of the room. The apartment overlooks the river, and Jonny's always liked the view, but he knows – he knows what it means to ask Patrick to stand there, naked, even if there aren't any buildings across where people could look in. Patrick's not on one of the top floors. Anyone walking by the tower below could look up and see him, if they squinted hard enough.

Patrick takes a deep, gasping breath, like he can't believe Jonny would ask him to do such a thing, want him to expose himself so publicly; Jonny opens his mouth to tell him to forget it, to go into the bedroom instead, when Patrick says, "Yeah. Okay, yeah, Jonny", breath catching at his name, and stumbles away from Jonny and towards the windows, yanking at his tie, trying to twist out of his jacket at the same time.

Patrick drops his clothes as he goes, so by the time he's at the windows he's left a trail of clothes, Hansel-and-Gretel breadcrumbs-like, leading to where he is. He slides his last remaining garment – his boxers – down over his hips until it pools at his ankles, and then he steps neatly out of it and kicks it aside. He looks up at Jonny then, and Jonny tracks the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the flush spilling from his face down to his collarbones. He's left the Cup ring on as if he knows what Jonny's thinking, and the sight of the glittering diamonds and thick metal band on Patrick's finger, against the flexing muscle of his thigh, is enough to get Jonny from half-hard to fully stiff in his pants.

He begins moving towards Patrick, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it aside, pulling his tie off and dropping it haphazardly on the floor, doing the same with his belt. He stops halfway on his trek across the room to dig in the drawers of the coffee table until he finds the small tube of lube he's looking for.

He doesn’t strip, though, just unbuttons the top few buttons on his shirt when he reaches Patrick and crowds him against the windows. They're probably cold against Patrick's bare back and ass, but Patrick doesn’t so much as flinch, just flicks his eyes up at Jonny and says, "If you wanna fuck me, you need to lose more clothes, don't you think?"

"Maybe later," Jonny says. He can't resist ducking down to press a kiss against the sweet curve of Patrick's lips. "For now, I just want to do this."

He settles his hands on Patrick's hips to turn him around, and is jolted anew by the sight of his own Cup ring on Patrick's smooth, pale skin, the TOEWS on it and the 19 beneath that standing out starkly against the orangey light spilling in from outside the windows. He presses a little harder into Patrick's hips, just enough to see his ring make a soft indentation in the skin, and is struck with the sudden image of his name imprinted on Patrick.

He must take too long staring, because Patrick turns to look at him, and his gaze drops to where Jonny is still looking at his ring on Patrick's hip, hot and a little helpless with the want surging through him, the need for Patrick to be _his_ , and Pat laughs softly.

"Jonny," he says. "What am I gonna do with you?"

Jonny tears his eyes away from the ring and up to look at Patrick with some difficulty. "I – do you not want this?" he says. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you, but – are you okay with this?"

Patrick laughs, shakes his head, and Jonny freezes for a moment until Pat says, "Nah, go for it, I know you want to show me off so bad."

And – yeah. As always, Patrick's hit the nail right on the head. Jonny _does_ want to show Pat off, tell the whole fucking world who was by his side when they won these rings.

"Hands on the window," he says, quietly. Patrick's hands slap up so quick Jonny's barely taken a breath, and he's bracing himself against the glass, bent over so he's pushing his ass out into Jonny's groin. His ring catches the light and gleams gold-orange.

"Good," Jonny says. "That's good, Pat, baby."

Patrick shudders when Jonny puts his hand on his back, arches it out more, and Jonny slides his hand down the sleek curve of his spine, slow, slow. The white-pink of Patrick's skin is reflected in the white gold of Jonny's ring as he drags it down the beautifully arched bow of his back until it reaches the swell of Patrick's ass.

"Gonna finger you now, Patrick," Jonny says. He's mildly surprised at how calm he sounds and feels – he thinks he ought to be shaking with adrenaline and excitement, but instead he's just utterly composed, as if this is the complete and natural culmination of everything he and Patrick have shared together. "I'm gonna get my fingers in you, and you're gonna show everyone down there what I do to you, how much you like it."

Patrick's voice is raspy when he finally responds. "Yeah, just – fucking do it, Jonny."

Jonny keeps his right hand on the cheek of Patrick's ass, the diamonds on his ring twinkling and throwing faint rainbows of light on Pat's skin, as he fumbles to snap open the bottle of lube. Once he gets it, he pulls Patrick's cheek aside, and pours a line of lube down his crack, over the soft tight furl of his hole.

"Ah, fuck," Patrick says, spine snapping straight before slowly unfolding again, "fuckin' cold, shit."

Jonny stops. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good – keep going, please."

Jonny can hear Patrick suck in a gasp when Jonny holds him open with his other hand so he can run the tips of two fingers down the cleft of Pat's ass and press gently against his hole, getting them wet. He leaves them there while he pours more lube over all four of his fingers and over the face of his ring before tossing the bottle aside, and he has to swallow against the sudden rise of heat at the sight of the ring glistening and made shinier with the lube.

"Breathe," he tells Pat, and Pat takes in a great gasp of air as Jonny slides his middle finger into him, easy as anything, barely any resistance at all, that's how much Patrick wants this.

The ring glints as Jonny works his finger in and out of Patrick, until he can hear that Patrick's breathing hard, before he slips his index finger in, the one that's wearing his Cup ring. All the way in, smooth and easy, Patrick's tight heat swallowing his fingers up like he's begging for it.

And it's just – it's fucking perfect when Jonny's got his fingers in Pat all the way down to the knuckle, the ring pressed firm against Patrick's hole, warm against his skin. It's beyond perfect. Jonny can see the TOEWS on the ring pressed at the very edge of Patrick's hole, and it's – it's too much, is what it is, too fucking amazing. He's hard enough to pound nails, he's so hot for this.

"Oh, shit," Jonny says. He's not moving his fingers anymore, content to stare at his ring on the soft warmth of Patrick's gorgeous ass. "Patrick, if you could see this. Oh shit. You're so fucking beautiful."

"Jonny," Patrick whines, and shifts, still speared on Jonny's fingers; it's hard for Jonny not to moan at the sight of Patrick moving on his ring, little hole slick and wanting more. "I need – can you move, please, fuck."

"I got you," Jonny says, a little lightheaded from it all, and twists his fingers just enough to slide them unerringly over Patrick's prostate. Patrick moans, loud, and his knees buckle just before he manages to right himself again, fingers flexing against the windows.

"Yeah, just like that, come on Jonny," Patrick sighs. "Thought you wanted to show me off?"

"Yeah, I do," Jonny says, and pulls his fingers out slowly to watch Pat's hole cling desperately to them. The next time he pushes back in, it's with three fingers, and Patrick's back bows gorgeously as he ducks his head low and gasps. "Let everyone walking past here to look up and see you getting fucked by your captain and his Cup ring. Let everyone watch and see that you belong to me."

Patrick makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a groan and a sob. Jonny knows how he feels.

He fucks Patrick a little faster on his fingers, making sure to slide his fingertips over Patrick's prostate, back and forth, in and out. When he's got a good rhythm going and Patrick's rolling his hips, fucking himself back on Jonny's fingers, Jonny stops, fingers deep inside Pat, and listens to Pat's loud "Fuck!".

"I got you," he says again. "I just wanna see – you look so pretty like this, Pat. So good for me, so gorgeous taking my fingers, taking my _ring_."

"Jonny," Patrick moans.

"So fuckin' beautiful," Jonny breathes, and spreads his fingers open inside Pat so he can see how his hole stretches, pink and slick and open, around the bright glinting metal and diamonds, the rim stretching beneath the TOEWS on the side of the ring.

Patrick's almost writhing by now, pushing back insistently against his fingers, clenching tight so Jonny can feel the rippling of his muscles and _see_ his hole fluttering against the ring. "Yeah, that's it," Jonny says, want prickling hot and unrelenting under his skin. "Touch yourself, Pat – wanna see you get yourself off on my ring."

Patrick groans and drops a hand from the window so he can jack himself as Jonny resumes fingering him, fast and steady, ruthlessly rubbing into Pat's prostate so Patrick's almost sobbing, the muscles of his back bunching and tensing. He's using the hand that's wearing his own ring to jerk himself off, and the sight of the ring flashing in Jonny's vision as Pat strips his cock, in tandem with the rhythm Jonny's fucking Pat with, is so unbelievably hot that Jonny has to groan, press his palm against his own aching dick in his pants just for some pressure on it.

"You're so gorgeous, Pat, I can't – you're my prize." The words spill out of him, pulled out by the smooth rhythmic motions of his fingers in Patrick, but even as he says them he realizes they're true.

"What?" Patrick gasps.

"You're my prize," Jonny repeats. "I fucking – I _won_ you, I have you, and you're mine, and everyone can look at you all they want, but they all know – you're my prize. You're my fucking Cup, Patrick."

Patrick jolts, and clenches so tight around Jonny's fingers that he has to still them, before choking out a wet "shit, shit", and then coming convulsively, his come shooting on the glass in front of him, and as Jonny watches, he milks the last few spurts out into his hand so they drip between his fingers and over his ring.

"Fuck," Jonny stutters, and then he's frantically yanking his zipper down one-handed, tugging his cock through the slit in his boxers and through his zipper, squeezing his hand tight as he fucks into his fist.

Patrick turns to look at him, and Jonny's dick leaps in his hand; he looks completely debauched, lips red and swollen like he's been licking compulsively at them, eyes wet and dark, his endlessly long lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones.

"I'm gonna come on you," Jonny says inanely, dropping his eyes to look at where his fingers are still buried inside Patrick's tight, wet heat, ring snugged up against his twitching pink hole.

Patrick just smiles, leans his head against his bicep, and says, "Go on, Jonny. You gotta mark your name on your prize, right?"

And Jonny just – he goes off like a firework. He has just the barest presence of mind to fan his fingers apart and hold Patrick's hole open so he can come right on his hole, streaking his pink slicked rim, shooting across his shiny, glittering ring.

"Fuck," Jonny says, drawing out the fricative, feeling like he's been shocked. He rubs his come out on Patrick's hole, dipping the head of his cock just a little bit inside with his fingers, and even the sight of his cockhead inside Patrick and his cock lined up perfectly next to his index finger and his Cup ring is making his dick twitch feebly.

It's a few long seconds – or maybe even minutes – before Jonny reluctantly slips his fingers out of Patrick. And then he feels bad right away, because Patrick's trembling like his legs can't hold him up anymore, and Jonny wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him up, turning him around to face him.

"You okay?" he asks, cupping Pat's face with his clean hand.

Patrick looks up at him, eyes hazy and pleased, and smiles, dimples popping. "I'm so good, Jonny."

"Yeah, you are," Jonny says, and holds him close, tight and secure so Patrick can lean his weight on him again.

Patrick finds his hand and twines his fingers around Jonny's wet fingers, holding on tight to his ring, and Jonny tilts his head down to kiss the person who's more important than all of the prizes he’s ever won, the prize that’s always on display by his side, in pride of place. And Patrick doesn't know it yet, but one day, Jonny thinks, he's going to replace the ring on Patrick’s finger with one that marks Patrick as his for all the world to see.

(Maybe one with less bling, though.)


End file.
